The Fox and The Rabbit
by CriminalConsultant
Summary: When the fox hears the rabbit screaming, he comes a-runnin' but not to help.


_**When the fox hears the rabbit screaming, he comes a-runnin', but not to help. **_

The cheap bar at the corner of the street was always overlooked by those not accustomed to visiting it. The ramshackle look paired with the usual bar fights one came to expect tended to deter outsiders. Tonight, James Moriarty would be visiting the small hole in the wall. The arrival of this irregular prompted glances from the old stools and pauses at the billiards table, but otherwise he went relatively unnoticed. A small, mousy man was seated at a booth near the back of the room. His glasses seemed a bit too big and his presence seemed a bit too strange, but he went disregarded by the other patrons.  
"This is an odd location for someone like you or I, Mr. Price." Jim greeted as he slid into the seat opposite.  
"Indeed, but men like us are easily ignored here."  
Price ordered a round of drinks before pulling out a folder from his bag and pushing it across to Moriarty. Jim idly flicked through the first few pages, boredom becoming more and more evident. Price had contacted him before for other matters, his problems had started out interesting but he was quickly becoming tedious. This would be a quick job, if he decided to accept at all. It seemed that men existed simply to kill one another, and Jim was beginning to feel like a hitman. That bothered him. There were plenty of mercenaries in the world, he refused to be counted among them. His reputation had been built up high enough for him to not need to get his own hands dirty on such menial tasks. Was he not counted above the common criminal? At that moment broken glass clinked to the ground as a man was shoved into a table. Price noticeably sunk down further in his seat while Jim turned slightly to watch. The blond man in particular caught his eye. He was undoubtedly more practiced, but his opponent looked as though he had a good two hundred pounds on him. He dodged a few punches, landing some of his own, Jim could see the glint of metal dog tags swinging from his neck as he moved. The blond was the first to draw blood as his fist collided with the other's jaw. A brief smirk appeared on his face, which was literally wiped off in seconds as he was hit hard in the face. Blood was now streaming from his nose and his challenger's mouth as they circled. The quick surge of pain caught the blond off guard enough to allow the other to send an array of punches to his stomach. The fight was rapidly going bad for the man that had very recently sparked Jim's interest. He was doubled over, the other man showing no signs of letting up on his tirade of fists and blood. Unsteadily he tried to regain a standing position, but with one last hit he was sent unconscious to the floor. A few men stepped forward to address the victor's injuries; Jim noted that everyone let the blond lie in a pool of his own blood. Without any notice, Jim was up and walking over to him. He vaguely registered Price's words of warning against getting into things. Price was much to worried of the world for his own good. He knelt down beside him and wiped a bit of blood from above his eyebrow, a particularly useless gesture as blood covered his face from his newly broken nose. He had half a mind to check the dog tags for a name, but he felt that he wanted the man to tell him not a label.  
When the man came to, Jim was still sitting on a chair beside him watching a group of people buy the other man a round of drinks.  
"That was some fight." Jim said as the man groggily lifted his head and felt his nose.  
"Fucker was twice my size, everyone knows I'm better with a gun anyway. Sebastian Moran." He introduced and lifted himself up to a chair.  
"Jim Moriarty."  
Jim watched as the man, Sebastian, assessed the damages of the fight and wiped some of the blood off of his face with his shirt.  
"Anyway, thanks for not letting me choke on my own blood while I was out." Sebastian said finally with a small grin.  
"Anytime." He replied, he thought about leaving now, but instead he impulsively slid a card out of his pocket and passed it to Sebastian., "if you ever fancy anymore blood, I could use a sniper."  
"And you want me?"  
"I do hope you really are better with a gun."  
" you have no doubt that I would be fully willing to become your own personal assassin?"  
"You're no stranger to death, nor do you put much in store with morality. In other words, no. Also, I would go see someone about your nose if I were you."  
"I've had worse"  
With that, Jim rose from his seat and returned to Price, Sebastian's wide grin as he looked over the card certainly did not go unnoticed.

Two days later Sebastian showed up at his doorstep, accepting the job with his rifle already slung over his back. He was set to work straight away, proving his prowess quickly. On occasion, Jim would send Sebastian on jobs with particularly horrific odds. And time and time again he would watch Sebastian come out of these jobs on top and unscathed. It took time, but Jim began to trust him more than anyone else for reasons he couldn't quite place.  
Months later, he realised that Sebastian had effortlessly climbed to the top of the ranks in his criminal web. Jim might have even considered hiring Sebastian one of the best things he had ever done. After the Reichenbach fall he might have considered it the stupidest.

In later years Sebastian would remember this day with a sad fondness. Some days he couldn't even think about it at all. No matter what, it was that day he sold his soul, not to mention his heart. Some days he wondered if he would've been better off without Jim. He would most likely still be at that bar for one thing. Or maybe he could have moved, seen the world. Anything else must have been better, right? On days like that he would sit on the sofa with his head in his hands and ask himself 'Was there ever a moment you stopped loving him?" The answer would forever be 'No'.


End file.
